


Eat You Up

by Novachester



Series: Hunger [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novachester/pseuds/Novachester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the introduction of Leviathan, and how they're affected by Castiel and his affection for Dean.<br/>AU of 7x01/02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat You Up

_“I can't fight them!”_

Thousands upon thousands of voices screaming from every angle, their claws hooking into each crevice of his being. They slide into the thinnest of spaces that separate Castiel and the flesh he once borrowed, then came to own wholly, expanding and consuming until the gaps disappear. His grace flares violently, desperate in trying to fend away the darkness relentlessly encroaching upon him, but the fight is futile.

Black tendrils choke out the light of him, the bottled sunlight that comprises him not enough to battle an evil that has festered in a world of monsters since long before he was so much as a notion in the grand scheme of the universe.

“Run!” He urges, pleading. He can't hold them back any longer, he can't protect his human companions. It's the last word he consciously speaks, but not the last of his voice that he hears.

“Too late!” Castiel feels his throat rumble with it, the pull of his lips as they shape around the words, but the command of it was not his own. Leviathan flexes muscles that aren't theirs, that they had no permission to take. Castiel screams against them, stifled and choked beneath their weight.

“Cas?” Dean tries uncertainly, both hopeful and afraid. The angel's eyes meet Dean's, and a thrill shocks through him that ignites him fully, surges power enough to break away from the creatures wrapping around him. He gets as far as reaching out.

 _Run!_ He means to say again, means to shove Dean so far from him that he's out of the clawed reach of the monsters bubbling up inside of him, but he can't keep control that long. Their laughter drowns out his own thoughts and he feels his fingers instead coil and grip the fabric of Dean's shirt, jerking him close, as if only to spite Castiel's intentions. 

Dean's breath is hot on his face. He could weep from the closeness they share, and the undoubted horrors it means for Dean.

From an outsiders point of view, it's Castiel who smiles as neither he nor Jimmy before him ever had. His eyes are wild with something primal, uncontrollable, and Dean knows before it speaks again that this is not his friend, though the confirmation comes anyways. It's a blow that knocks the wind out of him.

“Cas is-- mm, he's gone! He's--” Castiel feels his shoulders draw up, conscious of the way his features bend and twist in ways he'd never once used them. He's not sure that he ever knew how, but Leviathan manipulates this body like they've had it for a thousand years, millions of individual tendrils coming together as a whole to move the stolen body. “- _dead!_ ” 

Castiel roars in outrage, throws himself against the cage they've built around him. They pulse with every blow, absorbing everything he has to give as though it's nothing. They're enormous, the combined voices an agonizing and constant hissing, like the call of a thousand cicadas. His screams are lost amongst the noise.

“We run the show now,” Leviathan says, bright-eyed and grinning wolfishly. Dean stares on, mortified, but unmoving. He isn't fighting the strange grasp, he isn't struggling. There's something shattering in his gaze, a sentimental kind of a thing, and Castiel wants to shake him for such stupidity, for staying when the angel told him not to, but the Winchester's track record for obeying the word of the divine is virtually non-existent. He isn't surprised, only mournful.

Before either of them can make a move against the stranger between them, Dean is hurled across the room. Tendons pop in Castiel's arm under the strain of such strength, the limb hyperextended. Leviathan's inexperience with the host body results in pain shooting throughout the vessel, but while Castiel feels every twitch of it, they don't notice at all. They draw the limb back in and shake it out.

“Ahh!” They make, exuberant. Bobby is next, barely able to make so much as a peep before they toss him, too, into a mess of tables and broken glass, their movements jerky and excitable. 

_Stop!_ Castiel cries, hammering his grace against them, his light muffled by their overwhelming presence. They hiss and coil more tightly around him, rippling in amusement over his endless attempts to escape them. The constant noise of them begins to focus into something more intelligible, echoes falling more closely into line until Castiel can make out words.

 _Stupid little angel,_ they scold, squeezing tightly around him. Hundreds of teeth bite at his grace, licking and tearing bits and pieces away. _So prideful. So arrogant. You should be punished._

Castiel screams as they carve the words into his grace with their teeth, digging through the layers that make up all that he is, delving in and shredding. It's a torment that Castiel, as old and weathered as he is, has never known. They rip and tear, seeping into the pores of his grace and splaying him open for investigation, gathering from him thousands upon thousands of years of information on a world that has aged so much in their absence.

Then the pain stops abruptly, leaving the angel jarred and in pieces within himself. The tendrils stroke almost tenderly across the fresh wounds that bleed pure white light, brushing over them as they slowly heal. _But unlike the Father, we forgive. We are merciful,_ they tell him, cackling.

Castiel severely doubts both prospects, recoiling away from the prodding limbs, making himself small. It's a poor defense, but it's the only one he's got. They continue to press in on him, holding him in place. He can see it as clearly as any other day when they resettle blue eyes on Dean.

 _Leave him be,_ Castiel orders, made brave by his conviction, though his grace trembles minutely with remembered agony. The Leviathan coo thoughtfully, lips splitting into a grin as they tilt their head. Castiel swells with protective anger, lashes out again, despite his fear and injuries. _Listen to me! Leave them all be, or I'll destroy you from the inside out!_

Their laughter echoes everywhere inside of him, the vessel smiling as their essence blackens the veins in their neck, creeping up and webbing out across what had once become Castiel's face. 

_You like this one,_ they muse, pushing back against Castiel and snaking into his consciousness. Their touch is poison, unstoppable in the way they crawl through his memories and take, take, take. They shriek in amusement over what they find, and as the memories likewise flash before Castiel, he becomes sick with worry and grief.

_“Don't make me lose you, too.”_

_“Dean and I do share a more profound bond.”_

_“Cas, we can fix this!”_

Castiel can feel the resolution of the creatures settle. They're licking away at his grace and hissing unintelligibly around him, voices in the background likewise howling in amusement, as though they're conversing. Castiel pummels and fights and maybe even pleas. He can't let them after Dean. He can't.

“This is going to be so much _fun._ ”

This time the laughter is aloud. Dean stares in horror, glancing over to Bobby, but the man is unconscious, or so Dean hopes. “Bobby?” He calls, hesitant, eyes on Castiel-- no, Leviathan-- all the while. It's painfully obvious that there's nothing of his friend in the way this thing moves, stilted and awkward, like a grown man who's partially forgotten how to walk.

Leviathan catches on quickly, though, walking slowly towards Dean as it adjusts to the stolen flesh and bones. Dean swallows dryly, licking his lips. “So, how many of you assclowns are in there?” He croaks, clearing his throat afterwards. Fuck, he sounds so damn _scared._

“Hundreds?” He offers, an attempt to redeem that wimpy attempt at a taunt. “More?”

“More,” Leviathan responds smoothly, crouching down in front of Dean, who pushes himself back as far as he can against the collapsed table he was thrown into. Leviathan's grin widens until Dean is sure it's going to split at the seams, leaning forward and mingling their breath. “He's your _favorite,_ isn't he?” The creature purrs. 

There's a kind of distortion in his voice that Dean can't place, though he's not got the frame of mind to analyze it. All he can think is _getoutgetoutgetout!_ It doesn't even occur to him that he's not the one Leviathan is speaking to. Inside, Castiel offers screams, pleas and threats on the same breath. Leviathan ignores him.

Black veins spread sickly over the other side of Castiel's neck, and Dean tries not to think of the times he's had his lips there. He needs to figure a way out of this, to either disable, dissuade or otherwise deter this... thing.

“Cas, if you're in there, now would be a great time to pull a Sam,” he says, tongue thick and dry in his mouth, like a wad of cotton. It's worked for him before, those around him overcoming possession, so maybe this one trick of luck will hold up.

Dean watches as some kind of slick, black slime oozes out from the top corner of Castiel's eye, slipping down and spreading until the entirety of his left eye is black. Dean's stomach flips and drops low. He doubts there's any luck to be had here.

“Told you,” Leviathan says, leaning close enough that their noses nearly brush. “Stupid little soldier ant is dead,” they say, cheery. Dean's jaw goes so tight that speech feels an impossible task, but he pushes on anyways, forces the words out.

“You're stronger than this, Cas. You held onto them. Come on, man, you can-”

A mouthful of words is swiftly replaced a tongue upon his, strange yet familiar lips slanted firmly against Dean's own as Leviathan licks into his mouth, prodding and tasting. Dean chokes on his own surprise, sputtering and shoving at Leviathan's shoulders, but it's like trying to push over a fucking house. The pressure of the kiss alone has Dean pinned against the table, his legs wildly trying to kick the creature off of him.

Just as Dean's beginning to feel lightheaded from struggling to breath raggedly through his nose, the creature pulls away and Dean sucks down air like a drowning man, which is exactly how he feels. There's always something forcing his head below the surface, replacing the air in his lungs with something cruel and vicious, like his best friend-turned-sort-of-lover-turned-traiter-turned-God-turned-back-to-best-friend-turned-evil-Leviathan-with-it's-damn-tongue-down-his-throat.

Yeah. Not a good day.

“That's what you wanted, right?” Leviathan asks, grinning, but once again, it's not Dean they're speaking to. Castiel thrashes with all of the violence he can possibly muster, but like Dean, he's trapped. The punishing hold of the kiss is replaced by a single hand on Dean's chest. He grits his teeth, resisting the urge to spit in the face of this thing.

“Fuck you,” he says instead, seething with a hatred that burns cold in the pit of his stomach. Leviathan just chortles, palm flat over Dean's heart, which thuds wildly beneath the surface. Leviathan wonders idly how long he could keep Dean alive once he'd dug in to grasp the fluttering thing. The thought comes across loud and clear to poor Castiel.

“Would you like that?” The creature asks, but now it's hard to decipher who it is they're talking to. “Would you like it if we _fucked_ him?”

Before Dean can contemplate the implications of that sentence, he's got to deal with the sudden lap full of Leviathan, his thighs pressed flat against the ground as knees settle on either side of him. One stubble-darkened cheek rasps against his own as the Leviathan nuzzles him, catlike and proficient in leaving Dean at a complete loss for what the fuck to do about it.

“Get off of me, you sick son of a bitch,” Dean snarls, punching the monster in the gut on reflex. He expects to hit something soft, like a stomach should be. Instead, he feels like he punched a goddamn rock, and he's pretty sure he just broke two fingers. He wheezes in pain, clutching the hand against his own stomach.

Leviathan chuckles in his ear, tongue swiping across the outer shell of it. “What was your favourite part, Dean?” They ask, swivelling their hips in a back and forth that, on any other day, would have Dean rock hard in an instant. Right now, he feels like he might throw up. “Was it the first time, when he said no? When he was so... uncertain? Was it corrupting him?”

 _You fucker,_ Dean thinks viciously. It has to be calling on Castiel's memories, twisting and using them against him. If that's the case, though, there's a chance the angel is still alive in there, providing the source for these moments that came and went after what feels like a hundred years.

Dean cries out as Leviathan bites into the junction of his neck and shoulder, teeth sinking easily beyond the flesh and down to draw blood. Leviathan licks over the wound, lapping up the blood and humming in approval of it. “Do all humans taste this good, or are you special, Dean?”

The question sounds so damn genuine and earnest, so much like _Castiel,_ that Dean almost forgets his place, grunting. He doesn't, though. He's dealt with enough shifters and lookalikes that he knows when the supernatural is fucking with him. 

“I'm gonna kill you,” Dean vows, crushing his eyes shut tight as Leviathan licks blood and sea salty sweat from every inch of Dean's neck, tongue pressed flat and hungry. It's been so _long_ since they had a proper meal that wasn't thick with the taint of the evil that turned them to this all consuming shade of darkness. They weren't always sinister, but they were created with a hunger that could never be sated. It's His fault they're like this now, and it will be His fault when they've swallowed whole the last bone of humanity.

Leviathan bites into the meat of Dean's other shoulder, shivering with the taste and the way he shouts out in pain that sweetens the flavor of him. “He would have given you the world,” they snicker against Dean's skin, lapping up the crimson flowing steadily from man's shoulder. “Never would have hurt you, not really.”

A tiny, high-pitched whine strains its way out of Dean's throat. Dull nails are biting into his chest as a tongue he swears is abnormally rough wears down broken skin, digging and searching for the tender filling beneath.

“We won't kill you, Favoured Son,” they say, kissing Dean's own blood back into his mouth, tongue long and slippery as it prods every corner of the Winchester's mouth. He does what comes naturally then-- he bites viciously into the invading muscle, but while his teeth find it soft, he doesn't come close to piercing it. Their chest rumbles against Dean's with a chuckle. It's all he hears, while Castiel's desperate struggling goes unnoticed.

 _We've got something much better planned for this one,_ they tell Castiel, inky black tendrils wrapping around his limbs and constricting him.

Dean tastes it when something changes, a sharp and sour flavour that festers between their mouths. He chokes, sputters on the sudden trickle of God only knows what that moves down his throat. When Leviathan pulls away, there's a string of something gooey and black stretching from their bottom lip to Dean's, and it makes the Winchester's insides tighten with the urge to vomit.

“What the fuck did you do to me,” Dean struggles to say, more accusation than an actual question. His head is swimming and the foul taste in his mouth only seems to be getting worse. He's losing consciousness, but he can feel hands cupping his cheeks.

“Don't fret,” he hears them say, and he shudders as they lick his cheek, tongue leaving a hot trail of saliva and black liquid. “We'll be back for you.”

And then Dean is lost to the world.


End file.
